stone house filled with warm furnishings: a
felt carpet, quilted covers, and multicolored
pillows. It is heated by a bukhari, the tradi
tional Afghan stove, brought here by camel.
Akbar immediately offers me tea, then leaves
to greet Abdul Wakil and Roland.
I am not alone for long. A woman enters
and embraces me. By Kirghiz protocol, it is
Abdul Wakil's first and oldest wife, Bibi
Orun. She welcomes me warmly, then five
other women enter. After exchanging the tra
ditional polite phrases they sit down and
watch me silently. Suddenly, a young boy
rushes in, announcing the arrival of Abdul
Wakil. The women scurry off. Abdul Wakil
drinks some tea in the guesthouse before
going to his own yurt to see his family again.
The next morning I decide to pay a visit
to the women, and, to respect their customs,
begin with Bibi Orun. On the way a fierce
sheep dog tethered to a yurt leaps up, show
ing me its sharp teeth. Its ears are cut off, and
it wears a spiked collar as protection from
the wolves that attack the herds. Bibi Orun
sees my fright and scares the dog away with
a well-aimed stone.
Abdul Wakil's yurt is calm, clean, and
orderly, thanks to the three childless women.
But a yurt without children is a great misfor
tune. If, in another year, his third wife, who
is 15 years old, does not bear him a child, he
will take a fourth wife.
Abdul Wakil cleans his rifle while Bibi
Orun sews a khalta-a sack. From time to
time she gives an order to Bibi Turgan, who
is baking bread, and Zeba Khanim, who is
washing clothes. (Khanim, like Bibi, means
"lady.") Bibi Orun treats the younger wives
like a mother.
I am surprised to see no jealousy among the
wives. "Three women and one husband
doesn't this create any arguments?"
Bibi Orun laughs. "When a man is just and
good, as well as master of the yurt, there are
few problems," she replies. "Besides, it gives
each of us less work to do."
Girl Babies Rate No Wet Nurse
As the days pass, I spend much of my time
in Rahman Qul's yurt. There are many peo
ple and activities there. I am now greeted as
"Sabrina jan-dear Sabrina." I grow particu
larly fond of Bibi Jamal, wife of a son of Rah
man Qul (page 463). She spreads a blanket
461